All There Is Left
Most all there is to say
was said with a final breath.
Nerves tense and go haywire
I choke the tears
at the root
to be of comfort
but there is nothing I can say.
The patriarch is still, at rest.
The matriarch cries trembling cries to the gods
Still
still
in his quiet little coffin.
Gray vest, hair like ashy remnants.
The coffin is subtle,
sturdy
crafted finely
kindly, warm, supportive
ready to weather longer than most.
The silent mahogany box
says more than any of us could.
If only the wood
had hands to write.
If the Bible ring true, this man lay in paradise.
He said more than any of us could, solely with his life.
There is nothing
left
to say.
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